


Brother Mine

by Ilovecastiel18



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2020-06-16 05:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19639768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovecastiel18/pseuds/Ilovecastiel18
Summary: Sherlock goes to check on Mycroft after the events of TFP and finds him napping, which is unusual. What’s even more unusual is the fact that Mycroft is experiencing a terrifying nightmare, his first since Eurus set their family home on fire when they were kids.





	Brother Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Usually, I busy myself with Sherlock/John hurt/comfort fics, but I wanted a good ole brotherly comfort fic between Sherlock and Mycroft, even though they aren’t the most sentimental of men. I tried my best to keep the two in character. Review if you like it!

**Disclaimer:** Sherlock, along with its characters, location, etc. are the property of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I do not own them, though I definitely wouldn’t mind being on a first name basis with Benedict Cumberbatch ;)

……..

Brother Mine

……..

“I’m going out.” Sherlock abruptly stood from his chair and made his way to the door of his flat.

“You sure?” John was in the process of moving back into the flat, renting a spare room from Mrs. Hudson for a nursery for Rosie. He was just unpacking a box when Sherlock spoke. Rosie was napping in her playpen over by the couch.

“Yes. I want to see Mycroft.” It had been three days since the events put in play by Eurus, and Sherlock was becoming a bit worried about his brother. Usually, Mycroft would have come by the flat or called one of the two men by now, but he had been silent.

“Mycroft?” John questioned.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that he hasn’t called or stopped by since everything that happened at Sherrinford?” Sherlock asked, putting his beloved coat on as he did so.

“I guess you’re right. I wish you luck, mate. Mycroft can be very … well, just have fun with that. I’m sure he’ll _love_ your concern.” John laughed before resuming his unpacking.

Sherlock sighed and walked briskly down the stairs, tying his scarf around his neck as he did so.

When he made it outside, he hailed a cab and rushed inside, keen to get away from the chill of the season. He gave the cabbie an address a few blocks from Mycroft’s townhouse before settling back into the seat.

After about fifteen minutes in the back of the cab, they pulled up to the address Sherlock had given the cabbie. He paid the man and stepped out on the street, waiting for the cab to pull away before walking the few blocks to Mycroft’s home. He could never give cabbies his actual address due to security purposes.

He walked up to the door and knocked softly. Hearing no answer, he knocked harder. When nobody answered again, Sherlock pulled his key to the house out of his coat pocket, using it to get into his brother’s home.

Once he had walked in and locked the door behind him, Sherlock pulled off his gloves and scarf and shoved them in the pockets of his coat. He then took that off and hung it on the coat rack next to the door.

He walked a little way into the house, pausing at the door of his brother’s sitting room. He heard odd sounds coming from behind the closed door. Without stopping to think about it, Sherlock opened the door and peaked his head inside to see what was making all the noise.

It was not what he had anticipated.

In the most unexpected twist of events ever, Sherlock saw his brother stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. He was barefoot, and was only wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt with a sweater pulled over it instead of one of his beloved four-piece suits. His umbrella was carelessly tossed into one of the armchairs.

What was even more bizarre was how Mycroft was muttering softly, and tossing and turning in his sleep. When he stepped closer, Sherlock realized there was a sheen of sweat on Mycroft’s forehead, and the collar of his sweater was damp. Sherlock leaned forward to catch the words escaping his brother’s lips, but was caught entirely off guard when he heard them.

“Please no … please don’t … don’t hurt him … Eurus please … don’t hurt Sherlock…”

Sherlock, shocked, lowered himself down to kneel in front of his brother.

Suddenly, Mycroft’s muttering turned to screaming, and he began thrashing around more violently than before, nearly knocking Sherlock flat on his back.

“EURUS, PLEASE! DON’T DO THIS! DON’T HURT SHERLOCK!” Mycroft was screaming.

Enough was enough. Sherlock leaned over his thrashing brother, careful of the flailing arms that were bound to knock him over, and grasped Mycroft’s shoulders.

“Mycroft _! Mycroft! MYCROFT!_ ” Sherlock yelled, trying to wake his brother. Mycroft’s legs bent so he was curled into a ball, and Sherlock jumped up at the opportunity and sat at the end of the couch near Mycroft’s feet. He placed a hand on his brother’s back and continued to try to wake him.

“MYCROFT! Wake up! Mycroft, _wake up!_ You’re dreaming, you need to wake up _now! MYCROFT!_ ” Sherlock yelled.

Finally, Mycroft’s eyes snapped open, and he sat bolt upright, beads of sweat dripping down his brow. Without thinking, he launched himself forward into Sherlock’s chest, burying his face in his shoulder and clinging to his suit jacket as if his life depended on it.

Utterly shocked, Sherlock stiffened, his hand still on Mycroft’s back. He came back to himself slowly, and unconsciously started rubbing circles on his brother’s shoulder blade.

Just as suddenly as Mycroft had launched himself at his brother, he drew back, shuffling to the opposite end of the couch.

He seemed to be pulling himself together for a moment before he said anything.

Finally, he spoke. “What are you doing here?” Mycroft snapped softly. It didn’t hold the level of venom his snaps usually did.

“Checking on you.” Sherlock replied simply. Mycroft had his knees drawn up to his chest, and he was breathing heavily. Even though he wanted to, Sherlock didn’t move closer to his brother.

“Why?” Mycroft snapped back.

“I was worried. For good reason, apparently.” Sherlock responded.

“I’m fine.” It seemed to take all of Mycroft’s willpower to unfold himself into a normal sitting position. To anyone but Sherlock, he would seem perfectly calm and in control. Sherlock, however, saw the bags under his brother’s eyes, and the sweat on his forehead. Sherlock observed the faraway look in Mycroft’s eyes before he spoke again.

“No, you’re not.”

“Why would you say that?” Mycroft still had not looked at his brother.

“Where to start. When I walked in here, you were tossing and turning in your sleep, muttering about Eurus hurting me, or pleading with her _not_ to hurt me, for that matter. Then, when I went to wake you, you began thrashing harder, and screaming and begging Eurus not to hurt me. Then, when I finally woke you, you launched yourself at me and buried your face in my shoulder. All of that screams ‘not fine’ to me, especially regarding you.” Sherlock answered.

Mycroft’s face drained of color. “How long have you been here?” he asked quietly, all remaining venom gone.

“A little while. I assure you, I did not wait to wake you in order to observe you. Once I got over the shock of seeing you having a nightmare, I immediately tried to wake you. It took me a while though, so I observed quite a bit in the process.” Sherlock replied.

Mycroft grunted, pulling at the collar of his sweater. “Well I’m fine now, so you can leave.” He snapped.

“Were you dreaming about when Eurus burnt the family home down, or the events at Sherrinford?” Sherlock asked, not caring if Mycroft wanted him to go away.

“Sherlock…” Mycroft growled.

“I asked you a question, Mycroft. At least find the courtesy to answer me.” It was Sherlock’s turn to snap.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” Mycroft replied dangerously.

“Seeing as I woke you when you were screaming for our sister not to hurt me, I don’t see how you came to the conclusion that it’s _not_ my business, Mycroft.” Sherlock stood and began pacing.

“Sherlock, leave me alone. You don’t need to know about the things going through my mind.” Mycroft stood as well.

Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to face his brother. He had an incredulous look on his face.

“You’re quite right, Mycroft. I don’t _need_ to know about the things running through your mind. I asked because I _want_ to know. I want to help you. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“Why would you want to know about my … dream?” Mycroft asked.

“Again, you idiot, I want to know because I want to help you. For such a brilliant man, you really are rather thick.” Sherlock replied.

Mycroft studied him for a moment before dropping back down on the couch.

“It was about the events at Sherrinford. I’ve been having these dreams every time I try to sleep since everything happened. That’s why I was sleeping just now. I was hoping I wouldn’t have the dream if I slept during the day. Apparently, it doesn’t work that way.” Mycroft said bitterly.

Sherlock slowly moved over to the couch and sat next to his brother.

“What does this dream entail, Mycroft?” Sherlock asked. He kept his distance from Mycroft, trying to make him feel more comfortable.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sherlock.” Mycroft sighed.

“I just want to help.”

“I don’t care. I’ve already said enough. I can’t let emotions interfere with my life, you know that.”

“You already are.”

“Well that isn’t my fault!” Mycroft yelled.

“I’m perfectly aware of that, Mycroft. My point is that these dreams won’t go away until you deal with the emotions they bring forth. You’re going to continue having them until you talk about them.” Sherlock explained.

Mycroft sighed. “I don’t think you want to know, brother mine.”

“Trust me when I say that I do.” Sherlock replied.

Mycroft sighed once again before explaining.

“For some reason, my mind has altered the last task, where she asked you to shoot either John or me. It changed it to Eurus threatening to harm you, to kill you, just … because. She tells us that one of the holes in the wall, the ones containing the sedative darts, contains a bullet, and she will shoot you with it unless you shoot yourself. Either way, you die. In the dream, you say your goodbyes to John while I beg Eurus to reconsider. It never works…” Mycroft’s voice cracked.

“You dream about me dying?” Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft nodded, too choked up to speak properly.

“Oh, Mycroft…” Sherlock leaned back into the cushions of the couch, sighing. “It’s going to happen eventually. Don’t let my death get to you like this.”

“I can’t really help it, can I, Sherlock?” Mycroft snapped from where his head was buried in his hands.

“No, I suppose not. But still, you shouldn’t let the thought of me dying affect you like this. I’m a detective and a drug user, it’s bound to happen eventually.” Sherlock responded.

“You think I’m not aware of that, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked incredulously.

“I know you’re aware of that. But it’s still getting to you.”

“That’s because I care about you, Sherlock. You’re pretty much the only important person in my life. I can’t really help the fact that the thought of your death is causing me nightmares.” Mycroft snapped, lifting his face from his hands.

“True. I’m sorry, Mycroft. I shouldn’t be judging o questioning you. I’ve had nightmares about John dying before. Quite a few times in fact. Even a few about your death. I understand the feeling, I just never thought you would deal with the same thing.” Sherlock replied.

“You and I both know we aren’t as unfeeling as we claim to be, brother mine.” Mycroft responded.

“Very true.” Sherlock thought for a moment. “I can … I can try to be more careful. Not risk my life as often as I do … if … if that’ll help…” Sherlock said, unsure how his words would be taken.

“You don’t have to do that, Sherlock.” Mycroft stood from his seat and moved to pick up his umbrella and put it in a more secure place.

“I want to, Mycroft. If it will help put your fears at ease, I want to do it.” Sherlock stood as well, unsure what to do.

Mycroft paused by the chair, umbrella in hand. He turned around to face Sherlock. “Thank you, Sherlock. That means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I just don’t want your nightmares to continue to occur so frequently if I can help ease them. I care for you more than I like to show.” Sherlock continued.

Mycroft smiled. That was about as close to an ‘I love you’ as Sherlock was capable of, especially regarding his brother.

“I care about you too, Sherlock. Though that is fairly obvious from the state you found me in earlier. I’m sorry if I worried you.” Mycroft replied.

“You didn’t. I just want to help if I can.” Sherlock assured.

Mycroft walked forward to stand in front of Sherlock, dropping his umbrella on the couch. He grasped Sherlock’s shoulders and pulled him forward into a genuine, if a bit awkward, hug. He felt Sherlock’s arms snake around his back after a moment, since Sherlock first had to overcome his shock at the unusual sentiment from his brother.

After a few moments, Mycroft whispered a small sentence in Sherlock’s ear that conveyed everything he felt, from gratitude at Sherlock’s offer to love for his brother, in terms the Holmes boys understood more than anything overly sentimental.

“Thank you, brother mine.”


End file.
